Misleading Statistics - or - When Does Nonsense Make Sense?

This is a freewrite poem, a product of no more than six minutes of imaginative wanderings. I did not ruminate one bit, which means to say I did not spend a single nanosecond chewing my thoughts over like a cow chewing cud. I unshackled my mind to write this.

I hoped to freewrite a nonsensical poem, with the image of Klaus Anal Schwab (a nonsensical being if ever there was one) as my prompt. As always when I set out to make no sense at all, I evolved into the making of sense.

This is my entry to @ajerkoff’s Freewrite and Poetry Contest. It is also a pre-entry to @Rycharde's future nonsense contests. Thank you so much for reading my work, and for doing the important work of being truly you.

The image is by Dean Moriarty, @wales

The making of numbers up
precludes the making of brain farting down
and supercedes the wonderment of human folly
when presented with yellow roses
and red tables
which need corrosion removal
and a good deal of metal polish
to look shiny and eatable on again
for the next batch of fart laden fodder
to be dished onto plates
in every home in the world
and sucked in with the new world’s relish -
no relish at all

all passion and imagination,
the fonts of creation,
dried up like the wells beneath all of our feet

ripped out from under us and sold back to us
if we’ve been good and submitted to
the overriding of our innate understanding that
to do harm to oneself
is to harm us all